Throat of Smoke
by Eines Zwei Drei
Summary: That shot lasted for what seemed forever. It lasted my whole childhood. That shot smelled like Marlboros and the stuffy, humid air over Fresno in May. Ryan and Trey reflect back on their childhood.
1. Ryan 1

**Disclaimer:** I of course do not own anything OC. I just like it :)

Please R/R

* * *

That shot lasted for what seemed forever. It lasted my whole childhood. That shot smelled like Marlboros and the stuffy, humid air over Fresno in May. 

_The first time I smoked a cigarette it was of course, Trey who showed me how, who clapped me on the back as I coughed, who smiled as he inhaled and blew it out. I was ten. Three days before, our father had been sentenced to 10-15 years in prison for armed robbery. Two days before my Mom had left the house for orange juice, and hadn't come back. Trey told me not to worry, that she would, as soon as she found enough vodka to put in that orange juice._

_So Trey and I, just sat there. On our couch, in front of the TV, starring listlessly at it, and eating cereal out of the box. I woke up the next morning, to the smell of the my father, it amazing how strong the sense of scent is. I imagined him over me, telling me to wake up. "Yeah, yeah" I mumbled. "I'm up." But when I woke up, I was not in my own bed, my Dad was not here, I was in the living room, and my Dad wouldn't be coming back. It was simply Trey, smoking Dad's cigarettes. A carton, and an ashtray was sitting amongst the cereal, and juice containers that had been accumulating._

"_Trey what are you doing?" I asked, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes._

_He looked over at me, with a raised eyebrow._

"_Do you want one?" At this point, I was not in the right mind frame to say no._

_He handed me the Marlboro, and I stuck it between my lips, determined not to show that I was scared, after all it was just a cigarette, everyone smoked, it was no big deal. He brought the lighter close to me._

"_Now breathe in." He told me, and I did, with early morning zest, and ten year old fascination. The result was me thinking that perhaps my lungs were on fire. I leaned over, coughing. Trey clapped me on the back._

"_Hot damn boy, you're an Atwood!"_

_Once I was finished that one, I stubbed it out, and stumbled to the bathroom, dizzy from the smoke, dizzy from the experience, dizzy from the diet of cereal for the two days. I looked at myself in the mirror, and smiled. My hair was falling in my eyes, my eyes were a little bloodshot, a little out of focus. I smiled, I looked a little mysterious, I looked a little bad._

_So I smoked another. Then after that one another. Trey and I simply laid there, our legs strewn over each other, lighting cigarette, after cigarette. It was a spot in our life, when things were about to change drastically, we had to mark it somehow. And one carton of cigarettes were how we did it. Even when we both got sick, even when the air above our heads was blue, we couldn't stop._

_Four days later, having long ran out of cereal, we emptied the fridge of the last scraps, and Trey opened the last pack of cigarettes, someone knocked on the door._

_Trey looked over at me, wild-eyed. "Shit." His eyes observing the mess, the food ground into the carpet, the juice congealed on the table, the overflowing ashtray._

"_Mom is going to kill us!" Neither of us thought to wonder why our Mom would be knocking, neither of us thought to even surrender to the possibility, that it could be anything but Mom drunk and unable to find her keys. I ran to the door to hold her off, distract her, while Trey hurriedly shoved six days accumulation under the couch._

_But it wasn't Mom at the door. It was a woman with a clipboard, and a policeman._

_I looked to each one, not saying a word._

"_Ryan Atwood?" The woman asked._

_I looked back at Trey, panic in my eyes, he looked up from his hurried cleaning. "Shit." I heard him breathe._

"_Trey Atwood?" Trey nodded._

"_Can you tell me why you haven't been in school?"_

_Sure enough, it was Tuesday, we hadn't gone to school since last Monday._

"_We've been sick." Trey said with the ability of a lie I had never had, Mom's ability. Mom's lies that I swallowed every time. It probably did look that way too, neither of us had showered, or changed, or eaten a real meal._

"_Where is your mother?" She asked, this time stooping slightly to address me._

"_She went to the store, we were out of orange juice."_

"_How long ago was that?"_

"_Like an hour." Trey said, nodding at me._

"_Yeah like an hour." I echoed him._

"_Do you mind if we come in?"_

_I looked panicked at Trey._

_Trey shook his head. "Nah, its kind of a mess, my Dad just went to prison, my Mom's a little upset, but if you want to leave, you know, a card, I'll get her to call you." I nodded along reassured._

_But our lies, simply did not work. Obviously they had came, knowing some ounce of truth. Knowing we would be there alone. So we each packed a bag, as the woman with a clipboard surveyed our house, with a touch of disgust. We left the last pack, sitting on the counter._

_She would be on her bender for three weeks, but it would take her two months, to get herself together enough to come get us. By that time, things were ruined anyway._


	2. Trey 1

**Disclaimer: **I of course don't own the OC, but fictional Fresno and all the punk ass kids are all mine :)

Please R/R

* * *

The moment, I let go of Ryan's neck, and felt the pain searing through me, I knew it was over. Ryan opened his eyes, looked at me. The same look I had seen a long time ago. 

_After the first night, they came to separate us. I went to the group home for older punk ass kids, who had all fallen in the cracks anyway. While Ryan was shipped away, to some home for younger punk ass kids, who had one foot on each side of the widening fault line, and were about to be sucked in. I knew as they dropped him off. That he was be eaten alive there. He took one back look, as he rounded the stairs, back at me, he looked scared to death. He was too young, too naïve, too smart for his own good. If I wasn't there to look out for that kid, who would? _

_I suppose they looked at the neighbour hood we came from, the condition of our house, the fact that our Dad was in prison, our Mom out on a bender, that I kept swearing at them, and that Ryan was silent and gave them his best scowling look. That they assumed we were some sort of troubled children. Who needed to be locked away in the group homes for the lifers. If I was alone, I would have ran. I was 14 I could handle myself, but I couldn't leave that kid. He was my little brother, and at this point, even though we were on opposite sides of town, we were all we had. And I had to stick around for him._

_The place I was dropped off was in a rundown house, with locks on every door, and three rooms with bunk beds. And greasy Latino kids on the porch, glaring at me as I passed them. The man who ran it, looked a bit more like a warden at an institution, that a man running a foster home. But my first night, one my way back from the bathroom, I realized, this was an institution and I was locked in. Two guys jumped me from behind, and had enough time to whack my head against the wall, and lay a few well placed punches before the warden arrived. This was no big deal, hell I was used it. My Dad had a temper to be reckoned with. But I wasn't gonna be branded as some little bitch I would have to handle these guys. Because they just saw me, as some scrawny white kid, they all jeered at each other in Spanish, as the warden ripped the two guys off me. But I would have my revenge. And I did._

_I caught up to the one, on the way to school, my first day at a new school, in an area worse than my neighbourhood, where I would be the outsider. I had to be make it shown that I was not a kid to be pushed around. I came up behind him, knocked him over, and smashed his face in the sidewalk, and pounded him. The way, I learned, over so many nights when my Dad would use his fists. _

"_Don't fucking mess with me bitch." I told him, giving him a kick in the ribs, leaving him bleeding on the sidewalk. Me walking away, with only bruised knuckles. I wondered about Ryan how he was doing, what he was doing, hoping for him. But I knew there wasn't much of that for him, us Atwood's never believed in hope anyway._

_I stood in front of the school, and thought to myself, if I was branded some delinquent kid, I might as well act like it. I passed it, and kept going._

_Our house was locked as I expected, but the window, for mine and Ryan's room was open, I crawled in, and stumbled into the living room. To find Ryan, sitting casually on the couch, smoking a cigarette, his face just as bad as mine. His right hand swollen._

"_Hey little brother."_

"_Hey." He nodded._

_I couldn't help but think of that Atwood luck. My Dad had gone to jail, he was locked up, maximum security, he was probably swinging to make a first impression. Yet somehow, Ryan and I had ended up locked up too._

_And I knew I was right, if one night, one fight, had made him jaded. I feared what the rest of this stint would do to him._


	3. Ryan 2

Disclaimer: I don't own the OC, I just like it ;)

Please R/R.

* * *

The moments stretched out, time became something of a far away dream, as both of us floated in the zone between life and death. We looked at each other, and in the haze our eyes connected, I knew he was thinking about the same thing. He was thinking about the smell of vodka slowing seeping into our life in Chino, and so was I. 

_That first day back, we became a different family. We came back into it, with everything changed. While Trey and I had been locked up in group homes, while Mom had been out drinking herself into a near coma, our house had sat empty. Falling behind in the rent, yet Trey and I sat in it day after day, skipping school and smoking with nothing else to do, other than watch our lives fall through the cracks as property of California. We didn't say anything about it, because there was nothing to say. I didn't have it easy, and neither did he. But we were Atwoods and if we had learned anything, it was don't complain, don't explain. For years Trey and I had gone to school with black eyes, split lips, bruises and gashes, and we had never said a word._

_I suppose it shouldn't have been a shock, to find the window we had been crawling in day after day bolted shut, with an eviction notice on the front door. I suppose after everything that had happened, it shouldn't have upset me, to see our house about to vanish from us forever. It shouldn't have upset me, for my sole belongings to fit in a black duffel bag. But it did. So, I ran from that house, before Trey could see me cry._

_Mom came three weeks after the house been repossessed, two and a half weeks after I had started going to school, two weeks after I got my head slammed into the brick wall beside the gym at lunch, a week and a half after I got my revenge, three days after I skipped school and met Trey and we spent an hour at the bus station planning our escape. And we escaped, but not in the way we thought we would. We escaped from group homes, bunk beds, Spanish taunts, warden counsellors, and child services hell. But we should have known that we were simply jumping from one bad thing to another. _

_Mom had rented a tiny apartment with barely any furniture, it had one bedroom and a kitchen the size of a closet. That first hour back, we sat in the living room, me on the floor, Trey on the couch, Mom in the chair, and we glared at her. I hope she knew, right then, right there, that things would never be the same, that I would never be the same, that Trey would never be the same. That we would be there, everyday, to remind her what she did to us._

_As the days went passed, she began to talk of moving, she called it getting away from the "bad air". I'm quite certain she wasn't talking about the Fresno smog, but instead of my Dad imprisoned, her contining drinking habit, our hostility. But she should have known that it wouldn't make things much different._

_But we went anyway. Moved over one county, to a new place, to a new house, to Chino._

_Chino, to a place that could open all sorts of doors, but close even more. But I didn't know that, I was eleven, maybe I almost believed Mom that things would be different, that we could be different. That I could get rid of the anger I had picked up, that I could get rid of the sharp vodka smell that seemed to permeate everything we owned, that I could go back to being an almost ordinary kid, with an almost ordinary older brother, with an almost ordinary Mom._

_Our first night, Trey and I snuck out of our window, to the park a block down, and sat in the sagging swings in the darkness._

"_You know Ry, maybe you should quit smoking." Trey said to me._

"_Yeah, maybe." I replied, wanting to swallow that everything could be different, yet somehow for me, smoking symbolized something. It symbolized that I was more than an ordinary 11 year old kid, it symbolized that where I had been and what I had done, and that I smoked Marlboros just like my old man._

_So I didn't quit._

_The first time, I took a drink, it wasn't Trey that introduced me to it. _

_I was having a horrible time, my new school, was just as bad as the last, the kids, the teachers, the hallways, were all different, but the looks, the attitudes were all the same. My teacher said that I was an underachiever, a slacker, most of the kids steered clear of me, because maybe they noticed that I was different from them. There were a two people in my class, that I could hang out with at recess, one, a girl named Theresa, and a guy named Andrew, but even when we talked about normal things, joked around, there was a gap between us, maybe I was the only one that saw it, but it made me feel alone._

_That feeling only got bigger as I constantly came home, to an empty house. Mom said she was out looking for a job, but Trey told me she had some sort of boyfriend, and Trey didn't come home much anymore. So I was alone, alone with the TV, an empty fridge, and half empty bottles making the whole house stink of vodka._

_So I decided to see, what made Mom keep coming back for more. I decided to see what made this bottle more important than me or Trey._

_I didn't find out that day, all I found out that day, was that vodka burned your throat on the way down, and that after five drinks, your stomach churns, your head spins and pounds and the lights go out. _


	4. Trey 2

**Disclaimer: **As always, I own nothing except a few half empty bottles of vodka.

Enjoy, R/R :)

* * *

There was a threat of pain in my chest. Far away and distant. It felt like rain beating down on my back, dripping of my face and my chest. In the distance I could hear the rumble of thunder, but I think that was just Chino. 

_I tried to spend as much time away from our house in Chino. My Father had only been in jail seven months, when my Mom brought home a new man. She figured both of us we're sleeping, as she traipsed in loudly, both of them drunk, on the way to her bedroom. I put my pillow over my head, but I could still hear them. I looked over at Ryan, dead asleep, cuddled on his side and I envied him. I envied him being that young. _

_Because these days I have felt nothing but old. I feel old at home, I feel like I should be taking the place of Ryan's father but I don't know how to be a father. I feel like I should be trying to nurture something in him, like the way my Dad never did. But I don't want that kind of responsibility. I feel old at school, when all the grade nine kids come to me to buy pot, looking up at me glassy eyed, with pimples and high octave voices. I feel old in my own heart, and I know of no way to solve that._

_Coming home one afternoon from school, the house smelled stronger than it usually does. I quickly surmised that my mother must have been sacked again and came home for a mid afternoon bender, perhaps with the new boyfriend in tow. I nearly turned around, dodged for the sidewalk before anyone could see me. But I knew Ryan would be there, he had nowhere else to go and I knew he spent most afternoons within a block of the house, I couldn't leave him there alone._

_There was none of that characteristic noise that my Mom made while on a bender, the loud music, her laugh, getting louder and more disturbing the more drunk she got. The lower voice of the boyfriend whispering sexual innuendos in her ear. It was dead silent. I walked over to the couch and there he was asleep. Still looking like a little boy, that cuddled up sleep I envied. Until I came closer, and noticed the open vodka bottle just beyond his hand. The smell of his breath coming in slow spurts, the flush in his cheeks that was so uncharacteristic of him. I shook him. He didn't move._

_He was passed out drunk._

_I curbed my instinct to reach out and shake him, to smack him across the face, to scream at him for doing all the things I had done, and didn't want him to do. For a moment I feared for his health, but soon that fear was replaced with fear for his safety, after Mom came home._

_I picked him up, and carried him to our room. I knew he would be puking soon enough, so I sat on my bed and waited._

_I was disappointed in him, I knew I was. But I suppose I shouldn't have been. I got drunk for the first time when I was just a little older than him. I smoked pot when I was just a little older than him. Somewhere in the back of my mind I had been holding out hope that he would be the good one. But I guess that was stupid to think that he could after all he had been through._

_He stirred as twilight was beginning to set. Rolled over, moaned, and puked on the carpet. He was sweaty, disoriented, as he got up and stumbled around, at first not even noticing me._

"_Hey Trey."_

"_Hey little brother."_

"_What are you doing here?" His voice was far away, a little slurred._

"_I'm taking care of you."_

_He sat down on his bed, I could tell he had a bad case of the spins._

"_But you're never here."_

"_Sure I am. I'm here right now."_

"_I know what you're doing out there." He slumped down a little further, pushing himself against the wall, trying to steady himself._

_I shook my head, looking at him, unsure of whether I wanted to hit him, or tuck him back into bed. Is this what a father feels?_

"_You've got money, you shouldn't have money. You're stealing, and selling."_

_Why should I bother to deny it? I was. It wasn't like I had a future beyond nickel and dime criminal enterprise. It scared me, that at 15 this is what my life had turned into._

"_Go to sleep Ryan."_

_I caught up with him the next night in the park, where we escaped for a quiet moment away from Mom, and a cigarette. He didn't look as bad as he had that morning, with dark rings under his eyes, and a look that wasn't quite focusing._

"_What the hell is wrong with you Ryan?"_

_He shrugged. Ducking his head, taking a drag off his cigarette._

"_Hasn't the way Mom acts taught you nothing?"_

"_Didn't the way Dad ended up, teach you anything?" He echoed._

_I almost didn't have the heart for it anymore, to see him like this._

"_Fine, you're drinking, and I'm stealing. By 11 and 15 we managed to become exactly like our parents. Are you happy?" He just looked at me with this judgemental gaze, not saying anything._

_So, I got up and I hit him across the face._

_It got rid of the look, but only exchanged it for another one. A look I wished I hadn't seen. The look of the little boy, I needed to protect and couldn't anymore. He turned away, didn't meet my eye, blew smoke out into the night sky, and walked into the darkness._


	5. Ryan 3

**Disclaimer:** As always Josh & Co own all.

**A/N:** Just a brief note for anyone who didn't realize, Trey and Ryan are reflecting back, in the seconds after Trey has been shot.

* * *

I could feel him pull away from me, his eyes no longer shocked, sadness was creeping in. The blood was pooling on his shirt, dripping on to me. Atwood blood. I had seen it many times before. 

_I got up and I walked away, my cheek still stinging, my hands shaking as I brought the cigarette up to my lips. I was used to being hit, my Dad, my Mom, her boyfriend, the kids at my old group home, but somehow I never expected it from Trey. Never expected that look of hatred and sadness in his eyes, the look that made him just like Dad._

_I didn't know where I was going, or how I was going to get there, so I just walked. I ambled onto the main street just as the bars were closing. Just as all the blue collar drunks were stumbling out, stumbling to their cars, stumbling back to their houses and their kids. _

_I didn't even know them, but I hated them for all the hurt everyone of them was causing. _

_I had taken a drink from that bottle because I wanted to know what was so special about it, yet one case of the spins, two hours of puking, and a light sensitive hang over didn't enlighten me any further. It was horrible, it certainly didn't solve anything. I certainly didn't understand how alcohol could so successfully replace your children, just as it did with my Mom. She loved it, better than she did us, and I just didn't get it._

_I passed the bars, walking by the occasional jeer, telling me I should be home, in my bed. I kept my head down, my fists clenched. Who would miss me at home? My Mom had already been sloshed by the time she had put a slop of half cooked hamburger helper on our plates at dinner, and both Trey and I knew it was all downhill from there._

_As far as Trey went, he was mad, he was disappointed. I was worried in the pit of my stomach that this would end our alliance. Our pact of us against the world, the pact we had sealed with many cigarettes in our old abandoned house. Our allegiance against group homes, school, teachers, Mom, booze and violent boyfriends. But then the voice in my head told me, it was already gone anyway. Trey was selling drugs, stealing, going nowhere fast, he was becoming everything that we decided against. So maybe it was for the best, that I was just walking away._

_I was passing the closed; barred and chained, stores now. The streets eerily silent, all I could hear were my own footsteps and the distant snarl of the freeway, that even at 2 am was always busy._

"_Well look at this little thug. Shouldn't you be at home in bed _puto_?"_

_I looked up too late, realizing that I had been walking with my head down, focusing on nothing but my shoes and the cigarette in my hand, I had walked right towards them._

_Three of them leaning casually against a wall, none of them much older than Trey, wearing baggy jeans, wife beaters and bandanas._

_I couldn't just go by these guys, I knew how to play it cool, after all I had spent months dodging attacks just like this._

"_I'm going." I replied in a low even voice, not an ounce of fear making it in to my voice, determined to just walk by._

_One of them put their hand on my chest, forcing me back._

"_You ain't going that way, there ain't nothing but factories and freeways that way. Go home kid." It was the last place I wanted to go, and having a sixteen year old thug telling me, made me not want to go there even more. What did I have to go home to?_

_I took a step towards the one telling me, the leader of this little posse._

"_Maybe I ain't got one, and maybe I got shit to do, and you should get out of my way." I knew it was dangerous, but right now I was more welcome to a fight than more advice._

"_Look at this little white boy." He sneered to his friends. "Says he ain't got no home, says he got shit to do."_

_The other boys were nodding at him, a hand on each of my shoulders keeping me rooted in place._

"_You think you can talk to me that way?" He sneered at me, his oily skin just inches from my face._

_I knew it was coming, and I knew for the good of my own health that I should just roll over, and wait it out. But I had done that too many times, just let myself get beat and never fight back. Trey wasn't here to fight my battles, so damnit I was gonna do it myself._

_So I leaned in closer._

"Chinga tu Madre_." I whispered to his face, if nothing else, a group home was good for one thing, to learn Spanish taunts to insult other peoples mothers._

_He smiled for a moment, shook his head, reeled back and punched me._

_I had three guys on me, all that were bigger, stronger, and faster than me. But I didn't care, so I kicked, and I punched, giving a few good blows as they rained down on me._

_Their insults were getting far away, my retaliations more feeble, my eyes getting fuzzy with blood and sweat._

_I heard him step away. _

"_This fucker has had enough, they'll be more time, were gonna see this fucker again." Their footsteps receded, I pushed the hair out of my eyes, feeling my face for broken bones. _

_I didn't know where I was, or how to get home. My eyes felt heavy, with the weight of tiredness and pain beating down on me._

_I wasn't going home tonight._


	6. Ryan 4

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything.

Sorry it took me so long to get this up, I was out of the country for awhile. I'm breaking a bit with my formatting and decided Ryan needed another chapter.

Enjoy, and leave a review if you like it.

* * *

I closed my eyes, they felt so heavy, I could still feel the imprint of his hands on my neck. If I closed my eyes it was almost like he wasn't there at all.

_I opened my eyes blearily, my left eye was swollen shut, as I reached my finger up to prod it and drew it away again. It hurt. No surprise there. I looked around me, in the early morning sun I was cuddled next to a doorway on an abandoned street with nothing but boarded up windows, I was beat up, unwanted, and pissed off, it almost seemed like this is where I belonged._

_I fished in my pocket, cringing at the skyrocket pain that erupted from my ribs, and pulled out a cigarette._

"_How old are you kid?" Said a voice behind me, almost a familiar voice. In my blearily early morning stage I thought for a split moment it would be Trey, my big brother to come and find me, to save me. But Trey knew how old I was, and he didn't have a Mexican gangster accent either._

_I turned around to come face the knees of the thug that had led the attack against me._

_I straightened up, still sitting, trying not to grimace._

"_Back for more bitch?" If it was one thing I learned, it was never back down, never show weakness._

_The kid smiled. "God kid you got balls, you wouldn't catch me looking like that and asking for more."_

"_Well clearly we're different." I growled back at him, I didn't know why he was here, and it was unnerving me._

_He took a step closer._

"_Listen kid, I'm sorry 'bout last night. I gotta protect my name with my boys ya know?" I nodded._

"_So what? You didn't want to beat me up?" I took another puff and tried to look tough._

_He was quiet, he shifted from foot to foot._

"_No, you're a kid, you were out numbered, you were just walking. But let me tell you punk you got one hell of a right hook." He gestured to his eye where he sported a black bruise. It gave me a sense of pleasure to know after years of sporting those myself, I was displaying some of my handy work._

_I nodded. Taking it in. I still wasn't going to acknowledge this thug._

_He looked around._

"_You really ain't got nowhere to go?"_

_I paused for a second, and asked myself that question. Did I? Was my mother right now wondering where I was? Or was she sleeping off from last night? And what about Trey, was he worried, was he looking for me, or was he just selling drugs like any other morning?_

"_Nowhere that wants me." It seemed like an appropriate thing to say, I had to be tough for this guy. He expected it of me._

"_Do you want a cup of coffee?"_

"_Why?" Never answer questions, always ask them, that's another thing I had learned._

"_Because I feel bad kid, Because I beat the shit out of you when we were on the same side."_

_I scoffed, butting out my cigarette. "What makes you think that?"_

"_Where do you think I was walking when I was your age, getting hassled by all the thugs because no one wanted me at home. I was here. There is nothing out there for guys like us, unless we do something about it, and I could help you, like someone helped me." He was passionate about this, I could tell, talking to someone he thought he could relate to, it struck me how lonely he must be, how lonely I was._

"_Yeah, okay." I struggled to my feet, my body ached, my head spun._

"_I'm Tino."_

"_Ryan." He offered me a fist and I knocked mine with his._

_I had never drank coffee, but I figured there was a first time for everything as Tino silently brought me to a diner, five minutes down the road._

_We sat at the table, with white cracked stained mugs in front of us, amid the blue collar workers that had probably been drunk the night before. I glared at them, wondering darkly how many of them had beat their kids last night, as they jovially ate with their friends this morning._

_I took a hesitant sip of my coffee, I coughed and swallowed hard. It tasted like tar. But better than Vodka and it was warm. I took another sip._

"_So how bout it Ryan?"_

_I looked up. "What are you offering?" Just 48 hours ago, boys like this were my enemies. I didn't mix with them, I loathed them, but now I understood, just like Tino had said there was nothing for me, if it wasn't this. I cursed Trey for putting me in this situation, until I realized he had also seen this dim, dim light. He knew the truth, that we were going nowhere._

"_You could join me, and my boys, we watch out for each other, protect each other, make a living." I looked up at him sharply._

"_I don't sell drugs." I looked at him honestly. I meant it. I wasn't going to sell drugs, Trey could lower himself to that level but I wouldn't._

_Tino put down his coffee, and looked at me, from under his cap. He smiled._

"_You don't have to kid. But if you're gonna join us, you gotta be straight wit me on one thing."_

_I nodded, "Straight with him" Could mean all sorts of things._

"_How old are you?"_

_I hesitated, and gave myself away I'm sure. Pondering to myself, how old I could get away with? 13?_

"_Thirteen." I stammered._

"_I would have believed you Ryan if it hadn't taken so long to tell me. If you're gonna tell a lie tell it right. So what, if you're telling me 13, you're what 11?"_

_I didn't meet his eyes, I nodded._

"_Shit. Eleven." He shook his head._

"_You go to school?" I nodded._

"_Where?"_

"_Cordon Elementary."_

"_You are a long way from home kid."_

_I nodded._

_I finished my coffee, and was thinking about heading for the door._

_Tino looked up at me with a smile, I knew this much about him already, he was easy with a smile, and probably in a different life, he could have been a good guy. But he was jaded now, and I had to be like him if I was gonna survive._

"_So tell me, how exactly did you know how to tell me to fuck my mother in Spanish, are you a white Spanish brother?"_

_I shook my head._

"_In my group home, if you didn't know how to insult someone's mother you were gonna get beat." I knew it would get me extra points, if he thought I was worse off. I needed all the tough points I could._

"_I'll teach you some more. C'mon Ryan, I'm heading that way, I'll walk you."_


	7. Trey 3

**Disclaimer**: The OC dosen't belong to me. I just love it. Spanish gangsters however, I created all on my own.

**A/N:** Sorry it took me so long, be here it is the long overdue Trey chapter.

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Everything was growing dark. With my eyes closed, I could hear the squeak of the abandoned swings, the whistling of the wind through chain link fences. The far away traffic from my front stoop. I was so tired. Newport all but disappeared.

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_I just sat on the porch all night. I didn't know what else to do. What could I do? Search the streets? Chino was big, it was dangerous and there were so many numerous places a boy of 11 could hide. What chance did I have? He was 11, he went to school, hell he liked school, he had to come home._

_Even if he hated Chino, even if he hated Mom, even if he hated me. He had nowhere else to go._

_Or maybe I just felt guilty. Me, his big brother, his sworn protector. Comrade in alcoholic mothers, imprisoned fathers, Spanish thugs, groups home and cigarettes, had hit him across the face._

_I was so angry at him. So angry with all the things he said. What right did he have at 11, to be so damn articulate, to be so damn right? Yeah, I was fucking dealing drugs, I was doing them, I was fucking stealing. I was putting my life down a one way street that would have me like my father in no time. I fucking knew this. But there was nothing I could do. What could I do with my life:_

_Graduate high school, get a low paying job, struggle to make ends meet, knock up a girl early, end up unhappy with a bullet in my brain by 30? I would rather go to jail, at least there, amongst people just like me. I know where I stand._

_I lit another cigarette. I was fucking worried. Ryan stayed out all night, where was he? Sure he could handle his own, but he was 11! He might not think like a little kid, he might not act like it, but he looked it. That's what worried me._

_I took a drag off my cigarette, Mom hadn't even noticed. She had asked me at midnight where he was, when I was already on the porch thinking I would see him stroll down the street anytime. I had responded like everyone knew._

"_he's 11 Ma, he's in bed." I knew she wouldn't check on him, she never did._

_Here I was 7 hours later, still waiting for him. Maybe now I knew how he felt, always waiting on me. No matter where I went, how long I was gone. Ryan was always here when I got back. Sitting on the porch, in our room, the kitchen. Always waiting. Is this what he goes through every time. Does he worry I'm dead, off bleeding in some random street? That I'll never be seen again?_

_I've never thought of bodies and causes of death so much in 7 hours before. How would I tell Mom if I got her baby boy killed, because I hit him?_

_Oh god._

_I take another drag off my cigarette and there he is. Walking along the street, I recognize his walk, his stature even if I can't see his face. He gets closer. I clench my teeth, blink my eyes. Ryan, you have to be kidding me._

_Tino Chavez? Tino fucking Chavez? What the hell was Ryan doing walking along the street talking with Tino Chavez? We had rallied against kids like that. What the hell was Ryan doing with bruises on his face, that I certainly didn't give him._

_I take a final puff off my cigarette. I recline on the saggy bottomed couch on our porch. Like I haven't been waiting for him, I'm just fucking casual._

_Tino leaves him at our driveway, with a pat on the back, and a knock of Ryan's fist. I resist the urge to get up and beat that shit to death. Ryan saunters up the walk like nothing happened. He barely sees me._

"_Hey Trey." he says casually dropping his eyes past me. No animosity, no fear, no explanations._

_He disappears in the house, I can see him crawling into bed, just waiting for Mom to awaken from her hung over state and burst in, late for school again._

_I shake my head, maybe this kid is a lost cause for me to protect. Maybe he doesn't need me. He's getting big, he's moving up in the world. He is an Atwood after all._

_I crawl into my bed. Fuck school, fuck the kids who are expecting to get high under the bleachers today. Even drug dealers can take mental health days._

_Ryan is curled up in his regular ball, but he isn't sleeping._

"_Ry." I whisper, its not a question, he better answer me._

"_Trey." He replies back._

"_Want to tell me what you're doing with Tino Chavez?" The air is silent like humidity._

"_Nothing, him and I, we just understand each other. That's all."_

_Understand each other? Understand each other?_

"_Where were you last night?"_

_Ryan sighs, a sigh too old for his age. "Out by the factories. I was thinking." Everything about Ryan is too old for his age. I wish he was young enough to hug, because I've never felt more relieved than I did to see him walking down the street._

_I listen to him, until his breathing levels out, he snores softly. He's safe, he's home, at least today._

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_**TBC- **Leave a review_  
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